


another angel gone before her time (but she's still alive in our hearts and minds)

by Soheil



Category: The Escape Artist
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Heavy Angst, This is sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 19:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soheil/pseuds/Soheil
Summary: On the two week anniversary of his mother’s death, Jamie finds that the pain never gets better, only worse, and that wounds are easy to open if they’ve never healed in the first place.
Relationships: Will Burton & Jamie Burton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	another angel gone before her time (but she's still alive in our hearts and minds)

For the first time in two weeks, Jamie wakes up without relief. During the first few days, sleep had been a prison for him, and during the last few, it had been an unhealthy escape. Now, it was just … there, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that, not really. For the first part of the weeks, he was always ripped from his nightmares and tossed into the arms of his dad, who held him as tightly as he could. Jamie couldn’t figure out whether it was to comfort him, or his dad himself, but it had helped.

After the loss dulled, (because it would never go away, ever) he just tried thinking about it less. When he was tired, just so tired of being tired, he snuck into his dad’s (not his mum’s) bathroom, and pulled out the sleeping pills. Dad hasn’t used them once since Mum was killed, and Jamie tries not to wonder why.

The first time he falls asleep is blessedly peaceful. He wakes up relieved and content, and for three amazing, terrifying seconds, everything is fine. Then reality comes crashing back down, and he remembers  _ that night _ like it was yesterday, and - he’s rushing to the bathroom, trying not to throw up on the way. His dad hears him, of course he does, and appears, rubbing his back as he retches into the toilet. When it’s all over, and Jamie’s leaning with his head propped against the wall, his dad asks him what happened.

Jamie debates lying, but that would be an insult to Mum. She wouldn’t want him to lie to dad. So he tells him.

“I forgot.”

His dad’s face darkens and his shoulders sag. He looked as tired as Jamie felt. “Forgot what?” he asks, as if he didn’t know what Jamie had done.

Jamie just stares at the ground, tracing the patterns on the tiled floor. 

“Forgot that I’m alone.”

Dad flinches, just a bit, and tries to hide it.

Jamie ignores him, anyway. 

* * *

He gives the sleeping pills back on a Saturday. The same week. His Mum died on a Saturday. He doesn’t make the connection until he takes the pill canister out of his school bag and places it on the dinner table. Dad’s face goes blank. Jamie wouldn’t have done this if he hadn’t needed to. In fact, he had tried to put them back the day before. Just after school. He had been getting desperate for them, counting down the hours until he could take a pill. It scared him. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and had snuck downstairs around midnight to steal a pill. The light had still been on in the master bedroom, but that had never stopped him before. Instead of taking two like he usually did, he had taken three, and overslept by nearly an hour.

Dad had actually been happy that Friday. Happy that Jamie had slept well enough to oversleep that he cooked him a big breakfast. Jamie had barely been able to choke it down before he was dropped at school. 

Saturday dinner was usually a mild affair, featuring leftovers from the week. It was a guaranteed time to spend with his dad, so he had built up his courage throughout the day to place the small bottle in front of his dad.

“And what is that?” Dad asks, still chewing on the leftover pasta, his Scottish tone still filtering through his words. He seems mildly interested, maybe even a bit bored, but his eyes are hard. This is Will Burton, expert interrogator, not his Dad.

Jamie decides to be blunt. No point in making it worse than it actually is.

“These are your sleeping pills,” he explains, watching his Dad’s expression carefully as his father picks up the pill bottle and gives it a shake. There is a surprisingly small amount of sound from it, and Jamie can feel his cheeks heating up.

Dad just sets down the bottle and gives him a level stare. “These aren’t my sleeping pills. They’re your mum’s.” 

Jamie stares at him, wide eyed, feeling like he’s been kicked in the stomach. He doesn’t know how his dad can speak, let alone form questions, after saying that, but he does.

“Jamie, why do you have these pills?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” his words come out in a rush, and he’s twisting and tripping on them. He doesn’t know why he ever thought this was a good idea and all he wants to do is leave and go to sleep forever. 

When he reaches for the bottle, though, it’s slid out of reach. An unreadable emotion has entered his dad’s wide eyes. After staring into them for a second, Jamie realizes it’s fear. Dad gives the bottle another little shake.

“Last I remember, this was full,” he says his voice still low in volume, watching Jamie across the table, “How many have you had?”

Jamie lets out a shuddering gasp and leans back in his chair. He wants to leave. He needs to escape and get out of this room.

“Jamie!” His dad’s voice cuts through the air like a hot knife through butter, and Jamie can’t help but think that Mum wouldn’t have yelled at him like this. There's something in Dad's voice other than angry, an emotion he can't quite recognize. Jamie's made a mistake here, he's messed up, but he doesn't know what to do about it.

He shrugs, his head aching. “ Ten? Fifteen?" he asks confusedly, “I don’t know.”

His dad, who had already half arisen from his chair, grabbed his arm from across the table and pulled him towards the door. He had one hand on the lock by the time Jamie could get another word in.

“Hang on, Dad, I didn’t eat them all in one go!” he protested as he was nearly dragged out the door. His dad’s grip didn’t loosen one bit, but he turned around and glared at Jamie, his eyes rimmed with red. For a second, Jamie sees a deep, burning  _ fear  _ in there, and then it's gone. He recoils back anyway.

“What do you mean, you didn’t eat them all  _ in one go _ ?”

“Well, I’ve been having them for the past week because I couldn’t sleep! I’m not trying to off myself!”

Dad flinched and let go of his arm as if it had burned him.

“What?” Jamie demanded, “Is not being able to sleep not allowed? Just because you seem completely okay after Mum-”

His dad made a sound deep in the back of his throat, interrupting Jamie. Dad ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “I seem okay to you then, do I?” 

A stray tear fell out of the corner of Jamie’s eye and splashed down to his nose as he struggled to hold back his own sudden sobs. 

“You get to sleep, at least! You can rest! You didn’t have to see it hap-”

His dad yanked him into a rough hug, muffling Jamie’s cries. He holds him tight, and for a second, Jamie can imagine that he might feel alright again.

* * *

They fall asleep on the sofa, watching all of Mum’s old clips again.

He doesn’t have nightmares.

* * *

On Sunday, Dad dumps the remaining pills down the drain. Whenever Jamie can’t sleep, he’s to go directly to his dad, no matter the time.

Jamie doesn’t have the heart to tell him that sometimes, his Dad can’t make it all better.

But he sleeps, anyway.

They both do.

He wakes up that night with his Mum's voice ringing in his ears, but he's calm, and wasn't having a nightmare. Jaime keeps both his eyes closed, but bites his lip. He's awake. He still hears his Mum's voice. 

"Hi, it's Kate! I'm not here right now, but leave a message."

He swallows, forcing his breathing to stay normal. Dad's arm is wrapped around him loosely, but he can feel it shaking.

"Bye!" the cheery voice ends, and there's a beeping as his dad redials.

He realizes he's never seen his dad cry after the first night. If he turns a bit, he might.

He remembers how Dad seemed okay. 

Jamie can't sleep after that. The phone stays on for another hour.   


* * *

It’s been exactly two weeks now. A bit of anger, a bit of grief, and a bit of just being there. Dad’s late again, and normally, lying alone in the large house wouldn’t make him feel anything at all.

Today, it did.

For the first time since it happened, he’s angry. How could Dad just forget? It's been exactly 2 weeks since the worst day of his life. He'll never forget this day, not even when he's thirty, or fifty, or seventy. 

So Jamie stays up, curled on the sofa instead of his warm bed, a blanket around him, staring at his Mum's videos as he struggles to stay awake. He's been doing a lot of that lately. He wonders if Dad cares enough to make copies, so they'll be able to watch them forever.

Dad doesn't watch the videos any more.

He wonders if Dad's forgotten Mum.

* * *

It is, of course, another Saturday when things shatter into pieces.

Jamie's been stewing in front of the television for three hours when the door creaks open, and his Dad quietly steps inside, his face an impassive mask, as always. 

He gets up angrily. Sometimes he forgets he's ten years old, though, and he's not supposed to be like what he is. He isn't supposed to be damaged. 

"Where have you been, Dad?" he tries to copy his father's level tones, his courtroom questions."You should have been home hours ago. You shouldn't have even gone to work today!" His voice trembles.

Dad doesn't say anything, just claps Jamie's shoulder lightly and heads upstairs. This has happened before. Dad won't come down until breakfast. Jamie's not thinking straight, but he has to get his dad to understand. Understand what he's done to their family, to Jaime. 

To Mum.

He's too calm, and Jamie suddenly, savagely, wants his dad to feel. It's not fair that he's the one that gets the anger, and the guilt, and the pain. 

"It's a Saturday," he starts, and Dad just keeps walking up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. They're always supposed to have dinner on Saturdays.

"Mum died on a Saturday!" He picks up the TV remote and throws it at the wall. It makes a loud, satisfying crash. A picture frame cracks and falls.

His dad turns slowly on the stairs. He's not angry. He doesn't look guilty. He just looks at Jamie with sadness in his eyes. 

"Jamie-" he starts, but Jamie doesn't let him finish. He's spent so much time feeling numb and he's just  _ done. _ Done with pretending that he's fine without his mum. 

He opens his mouth to try to speak, but he can't get a word out. His breath catches and for a moment, he feels like he can't breathe. Dad takes a step down but Jamie shakes his head and backs up a few steps, nearly tripping over himself. Blessedly, his lungs start working again.

His dad's jaw clenches. "Do I scare you?" he asks plaintively, as if he needs to hear the answer. 

Jamie takes a quick breath through his nose and nods quickly.

His dad lets out his breath as if was holding it and sits on the stairs. He runs a hand over his face and covers his mouth, watching Jamie. Jamie just breathes, quickly, as if he'd just run a marathon. His hands are fisted at his sides. 

They stand there for a minute, watching each other. Jamie realizes he's crying. His dad, of course, isn't, but his eyes are shining. Jamie hates him from the very bottom of his soul. It's the strongest emotion he's felt since it happened.

"If I could go back," his dad says thickly, his voice breaking, "I'd do anything to be in her place. You know that, don't you, Jamie?"

Jamie just stares at him. 

"Would you?" 

His dad's eyes narrow. "Of course I would." he whispers tightly.

"I don't believe you."

There's a pause, and then Jamie whispers out what he's been trying not to think all afternoon.

"You're the reason she's dead."

Everything seems to stop. Jamie and his Dad stare at each other from across the room. Jamie can't believe he said that, but he doesn't regret it. If it's Dad's fault, it can't be his, and that's all that matters now. That's all he  _ needs _ now. 

Somehow, Dad's across the room in an instant, clutching Jamie's arms. He tries to pull him into a hug, but Jamie doesn't let him.

"I didn't kill Mum, Jamie," he says, breathing hard, "I did not kill your mother,  _ do you understand? _ "

Jamie gives him a hard look. He forces himself to look his father straight in the face and jerks away from his tight hold.

"If you'd been there," he swallows hard, clenching his hands, "Mum would never have died. If you'd been there," his voice gets stronger, " _ he _ would have never been able to get in! If you'd been there, I wouldn't have had to watch it! If you'd been there-"

"Jamie, SHUT UP!" his father roars. Jamie clams up, watching him, eyes wide, his heart thudding wildly. He can't speak, but at the same time, a sob leaks out of his throat, and he's crying harder than he ever has.

"Why didn't you come back, Dad?" he manages to get out between gasps, "If you had come from work, none of this would have happened! Is your job that important? More than Mum?"

There are tear tracks on Dad's face as he shakes his head. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely but Jamie ignores him. He's gotten good at that, ignoring things. Suddenly, the real weight of what's happened hits him. He had realized it before, but never as vividly as now. 

His mum was dead. She would never come into his room and give him a goodnight kiss. She wouldn't be at any more of his birthdays.

"She's not coming back," Janie whispers aloud. It hurts him more than a kick to the stomach and it makes it  _ real.  _

His dad lets out a sob and that makes it worse.

"She's not coming back," Jamie repeats numbly, "She's not."

His dad can't meet his eye. "I know."

With that, Jamie breaks. He's been bottling this up for weeks, and this has been the last straw.

"I hate you!" he screams at his father, giving him a shove back. His dad stumbles a bit, but it's not enough. He finally looks at Jamie and nods tiredly.

"Jamie, I know _. _ "

"You should have been there!"

“I know.”

"It should have been you instead of Mum!"

" _ I know. _ "

" _ Why did she have to die? _ " he dissolves into sobs, "Do you know that, Dad,  _ do you _ ?"

"No, I don't," Dad shakes his head, tears flowing down his face. He lets out one sob, then another.

He's crying as hard as Jamie is, now.

Jamie just slides to the floor, curling his knees close to his chest. They’re just a few feet apart, but the distance might have been miles.

He realizes that’s another thing his dad doesn't know.

He doesn't know how to fix this.

* * *

They end up going to bed, separately, without another word. Dinner's gotten cold, just lying on the table, but Jamie can't will himself into hunger like he has in the past few days. He just curls himself into a ball under his covers. He has no tears left to give, so instead he stares at the wall, eyes burning with exhaustion. He must have fallen asleep at some point because he wakes up to a loud crash down the hall. 

Heartbeat thudding in his ears, Jamie grabs the cricket bat he's hidden under his bed. That's another thing that's changed since Mum. He never had to be worried about sleeping before. Nevertheless, he slides out of bed, right hand firmly wrapped around the bat handle. He inches slowly into the hall, trying to convince himself that he's not terrified that someone's in the house. He sees a light on down the hall and presses into the shadows, squinting at the sudden brightness. The urge to hide becomes almost unbearable, but he forces himself forward, one foot, then another.

His dad is on the bathroom floor staring blankly at the wall hanging. Mum had chosen it, when they had redecorated. His hands are pressed to the sides of his head. There's a side table lying on the floor in the hallway between them. Dad must have knocked it over.

Jamie's grip loosens on the bat and he backs up a little bit more. Dad pulls himself up, and looks at himself in the mirror for a second. Suddenly, he gags. He retches into the toilet as Jamie watches from the end of the dark hallway, cricket bat still in his hand. Dad stills, and leans back, head in his hands. His shoulders shake, but no sound escapes his mouth. Jamie swallows hard and wonders how many times this has happened before.

Only a few weeks before, he had been the one in the bathroom, and Dad had been at the end of the hall. Dad hadn't hesitated to come to comfort him.

But Jamie's not his dad, and he doesn't want to be. 

He goes back to his room for the rest of the night and pretends he's not hiding.

"How'd you sleep last night?"

His dad is terrible at small talk, not to mention that he looks worse than Jamie feels.

"Not well," Jamie says slowly, "There was a crash and someone turned the lights on."

His father's face pales and he watches Jamie intently, but Jamie just eats another spoon of cornflakes. All the anger from last night has drained out, replaced by something like regret.

"I'm sorry," his Dad says in a surprisingly shaky voice, "Tell me what I can do to fix this and I'll do it. Just ask."

Jamie sets down his spoon. He's too tired to fight.

"Dad-" he starts.

"We can't go on like this," his dad pleads.

Jamie nods. For some reason, his vision blurs. A tear slips down his nose. He doesn't even know why he's crying.

"Jamie-" his dad takes a deep breath, "I- I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I-" His breaths have gotten more rapid and suddenly, he can't get any words out. Jamie drops his spoon with a clatter and runs to the other side of the table. 

"Dad!"

Dad just looks at him with wide eyes, struggling to get his breathing under control. 

"I'm so sorry," he gasps. 

Jamie stares at his Dad in horror. 

"Dad, breathe! Please-"

"Why should I?" Dad manages to get out, then takes a deep breath. Jamie just stands in front of him, eyes wide with fear. Fear  _ for _ his father, not of him. After a second, his dad starts coughing uncontrollably. Jamie is frozen with alarm for a second, then moves as if on autopilot, filling a glass with water and handing it to his dad, who takes a little sip. He clutches the glass like a lifeline.

After a second, Jamie says,

"Dad, about everything that I said yesterday…" his voice trails off at the look on his Dad's face. It's like someone's wiped off all his features and covered them with a mask that doesn't look quite right.

"Everything you said yesterday was right, " his father says, after the silence stretched on too long. He dropped his plate in the sink with a clatter and left the room. 

Jamie stared after him in shock, then ran after him.

"Dad, none of it was true! I just said it because I was angry and tired. Please-"

"No," his dad says in a quiet voice that makes Jamie's stomach flip flop, "You meant it." His voice cracks violently on the last word and Jamie remembers last night vividly. He'd thought he'd meant what he said too, but in the light of day, he knows they were just angry words, trying to hurt anybody but himself.

He doesn't know what he's done. He doesn't know if he can fix this.

He's a lot like his Dad, in that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Angel, by Kodaline. It's a really great, sad song.
> 
> Is anyone out there? I'm not entirely sure how big this fandom is, but hi!


End file.
